


A Bit Tied Up

by autumnyte



Series: Boss Moshe Hazzan [5]
Category: Saints Row
Genre: Blindfolds, Fluff and Smut, Light Bondage, M/M, Switching, Tie Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-10 16:51:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2032554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autumnyte/pseuds/autumnyte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Troy is getting ready to attend a formal Stilwater PD function. Moshe has a better idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bit Tied Up

**Author's Note:**

> Chyrstis sent me a prompt for 'Moshe/Troy - the pleasant misuse of ties' and this is what happened. Thanks to both Chyrstis and giant-sequoia for the fast and awesome beta. 
> 
> My M!Boss in this is [Moshe](http://pierceaholic.tumblr.com/tagged/boss%20moshe%20hazzan).

Though it was well past dusk, the bright lights from the Phillips Building rendered the sky above Mission Beach a pearly gray. Troy’s street was busy, particularly for a weeknight, but the people bustling about walked swiftly and looked straight ahead, focused intently on their own business.

Moshe glanced around a few times to confirm no one was watching him, then knelt down in front of Troy's door. He pulled a small, makeshift pick and wrench from his pocket and set to work on the lock. He'd picked it successfully on several previous occasions, and each time it got a bit easier, his fingers remembering the pattern.

When the last pin clicked, he held his breath and moved the cylinder with the wrench, exhaling in relief as it turned. Still on his knees, he pushed open the door to find Troy standing behind it with a pistol pointed at his head. Moshe put both hands in the air and grinned. "Don't shoot, officer."

"The fuck? I swear to God, you're gonna get yourself killed one of these days." Troy switched on the safety and put the pistol down on a table. He ran a frazzled hand through his hair. "You know, there's this novel invention called a doorbell. You should try it sometime."

Moshe stood and brushed off the front of his khakis. "Didn't reckon you'd still be home. Thought you'd already be off at your Policeman's Ball thingy." He scanned Troy up and down, his eyes lingering on the sharp dress uniform and shiny shoes.

Troy walked briskly toward the bedroom and Moshe followed. "It's not the Policeman's Ball. That already happened a few months back. Tonight's the Precinct Party—it's an internal event, mostly for Stilwater PD employees and their families." He stopped at the doorway and turned to face Moshe. "So why the fuck  _were_  you breaking in… again?"

"Well, I don't exactly have a key, do I? Figured I'd show myself in and wait for you." Moshe rested his palm against the front of Troy's freshly-pressed shirt and said softly, "It's been days. I missed you."

Troy closed his eyes and sighed. "Me too. Been so busy getting ready for this damn thing, I haven't had a chance to come up for air." He walked over to the bed and glanced down at an assortment of plain ties. "Didn't become a cop to sit around signing purchase orders and planning fucking parties all day."

"It's a shame you can't bring me along as your date," Moshe said, lightly touching the small of Troy's back, taking care not to wrinkle the uniform. "I'm a brilliant dancer."

“Can you imagine? I’d be spinning the damn PR for months. Shit, I don't even know how I could spin it. Wish I could." Troy glanced over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow. "Never have seen you dance, though.” 

"You're missing out." Moshe began gyrating his hips, but the demonstration ended shortly as Troy dissolved into quiet chuckling. "Right. Laugh all you like, but I'll have you know I'm a big hit at weddings and bar mitzvahs."

"I'll just bet." Troy pointed to two ties on the bed. "What do you think, blue or navy?"

Moshe shrugged. "Dunno. I'm always partial to purple."

“You know I can’t turn up in a purple necktie." Troy worried his lower lip, still staring at his choices.

“Yeah.” Moshe stepped forward and brushed his fingertips against Troy's belt buckle. "But I'll wager you're wearing at least a hint of purple… somewhere."

"Mo, I'm already late to this fucking thing," he chided.

"Gotcha. Sorry." Moshe took a step back, his expression anything but remorseful. "You don't seem too chuffed about going, though."

"I'm not. I can't stand these parties. The small talk, everyone wanting my opinion on this case or that case, trying like hell to remember the name of everyone's spouse and kids. And there's always at least one guy with a sister they're trying to fix me up with." Troy grabbed a cigarette from the pack by his bedside, lit it, and took a long drag. "If I wasn't the chief, I'd blow the whole thing off."

Moshe reached over and took the cigarette from Troy's hand, handing it back after a puff of his own. "Blow it off, anyway."

"I can't. For better or worse, I'm the boss. It's expected." Balancing the cigarette between his lips, Troy picked up the blue and navy neckties and held them up to his collar one at a time. "So, what do you think?"

"What I think… is that you should resign yourself to being fashionably late to the party." Moshe plucked the cigarette out of Troy's mouth, set it down in the ashtray, and kissed him softly. He whispered in his ear, "And I can come up with a much better use for those ties."

Troy swallowed audibly. He reached out and trailed a finger down the buttons of Moshe's polo shirt. "What, uh, what'd you have in mind?"

Moshe grabbed the bottom of one of the ties. "It's silk, yeah? Makes for an excellent restraint. Or a blindfold. Or maybe even… a gag."

"Christ, where do you even come up with—"

"You wear one every day. I've had months to contemplate the possibilities. And after you indulged me with those handcuffs…" Moshe started unbuttoning Troy's shirt, pausing to meet his gaze with wide, questioning eyes, and continuing only after a nod of approval. "The question is whether you're in the mood to be tied up and left at the mercy of a dangerous criminal, or if you’d rather have complete control of an infamous gang leader who's no doubt willing to do anything to get out of trouble?"

"And, uh, just what makes you think I'd want any part of either scenario?" Troy asked, as Moshe's warm hands slipped inside his shirt, eliciting a groan.

"'Cause you're wound tighter than a cheap watch," Moshe murmured, kissing Troy's neck as he untucked the shirt and went to work on the belt buckle. "A little game might help."

“Too much thinking with games like that. Can't we just"—Troy brushed his lips against Moshe's—"be us right now? You and me."

Moshe licked his upper lip where the light graze of Troy's mustache had tickled him. "Yeah. Alright. Us is good." He slid Troy's belt out of the loops and let it drop to the floor, then reached for Troy's wrists, circling his fingers around them. "Of course, I could still tie you up. No game needed. Maybe blindfold you, too. Then you wouldn't have to think at all."

Troy's muscles tensed and there was a hitch in his breath. Something indiscernible flickered across his expression.

Not wanting to push, Moshe let the suggestion marinate as he continued to undress Troy. He unbuttoned and unzipped the dress slacks next, tugged them down carefully and let Troy step out of them before he draped them flat across the dresser. A smile of satisfaction spread across his face when he turned and caught sight of Troy's briefs. "I  _knew_  it."

"What? These were on sale."

"Sure. That's the only reason you're wearing them."

Troy rolled his eyes. "Don't make a whole big thing out of it. You got half of Stilwater showing their colors for the Saints these days. It's tough to find anything else in the stores."

Moshe helped Troy out of his jacket and dress shirt, laying them carefully on the dresser. "Maybe you can fool other people, but not me. Purple's always been your color. You're never gonna stop being a Saint."

He realized, a moment too late, that he'd pushed too far when Troy recoiled from his touch, frowning. "You on some kind of fucked up power trip tonight, or what? First, you break in here, set on tying me up, now this.” He stared over at his uniform on the dresser, not making eye contact. "Don't get it twisted. I don't answer to you."

"Whoa, whoa. Hang on." Moshe cupped Troy's face between his hands. "I know bloody well you don't answer to me. Of course not. I don't want you to."

"What's all this about, then?" Troy asked.

"Sorry, it’s just… I’ve been burnt before, yeah? As in literally." Something resembling a laugh escaped Moshe's throat as he envisioned the scars all over his body from the explosion, courtesy of Jules—scars he was still struggling to get accustomed to. "I need to know who in my life I can trust completely." He dropped to his knees, stared up at Troy and reached out tentatively, running his fingertips over purple cotton. "And I suppose I just find this sort of thing… reassuring."

Threading his fingertips through Moshe's hair, Troy gazed down, his expression having softened. "You can trust me—purple or not. I promise that."

"I know," Moshe whispered. "And I do." His thumb circled Troy's cock through the fabric, and he mouthed over it as he felt him go rigid.

Troy's legs trembled. " _Jesus_."

"Can I taste you?" Moshe asked, looking up.

"Yeah," Troy breathed, smiling back at him. "Knock yourself out."

Something unclenched in Moshe's chest at that smile. He tugged down the purple briefs and wasted no time taking him in hand. Wrapping his fingers around the base of Troy's cock, he swept his tongue up the underside, lingered momentarily along the ridge just beneath the head, then tongued the slit. Relishing the salty musk, Moshe closed his mouth around the tip, hollowed his cheeks, and began to suck gently.

"Ah _—fuck._ "

Humming in approval, Moshe slid his lips lower, slowly gliding down the length, moving his fingers out of the way to take Troy in as far as he could. A low groan of pleasure from Troy encouraged him to pick up the pace. He slackened his jaw and moved his head in a fast, steady rhythm as he grabbed Troy's ass with one hand, and fondled his balls with the other.

It was only a few minutes before Troy's grip on his hair tightened. "You gotta stop, or I'll come," he said, hoarsely.

Moshe lifted off, unable to resist one more teasing lick. "Well, that was kinda the point. I take it you've got a different idea?"

"Uh-huh." Troy pulled him to his feet and kissed him, scrabbling at his belt buckle, then unbuttoning and unzipping his khakis. Moshe moaned into Troy's mouth when he felt a strong hand slip past the elastic waistband of his bikini briefs. Troy broke away for a moment to whisper, "One of us is overdressed.”

Taking the hint, Moshe peeled off his polo shirt, lifted it over his head, and tossed it aside. Just as quickly, he kicked off his shoes and let his pants fall to the floor. Troy helped him with the final piece, inching those briefs past his hips and down his legs, so Moshe could step out of them.

Troy wet his lips, and his eyes wandered slowly and methodically over Moshe's body. A small noise of appreciation resonated from his throat. Moshe's skin prickled, a shiver running through him as he let his own gaze linger on Troy with equal intensity. Although they'd been naked together dozens of times before, some part of it still felt like exploration.

Moshe wrapped his arms around Troy's waist and pressed their bodies together, warm skin against warm skin. "So, what did you have in mind?" he whispered, pressing his hips forward and brushing his erection against Troy's.

With a jagged breath, Troy answered, "I, uh, I was thinking about what you said earlier." He gave a sidelong glance at the ties on the bed.

"And?" Moshe prodded.

"You were asking what I was in the mood for, and I was thinking this time around, uh, maybe we could…" Troy trailed off and stared at the floor, his cheeks reddening.

It was rare to see Troy this flustered, and Moshe couldn't prevent the corners of his mouth from quirking into a smile. He'd heard enough to get an inkling of what Troy was after. "You want me to be the one tied up?"

"Yeah." Troy locked eyes with him. "I mean, only if you—"

"I think I can handle being at your mercy." Moshe kissed him and began guiding him toward the bed, realizing halfway there that he should probably let Troy take the lead. "So, you want me on my back, or my stomach?"

"On your back," Troy said, and the hint of authority in his voice sent a jolt of heat straight through Moshe.

Moshe pulled back the bedcovers and got onto his back as directed, hands above his head.

Troy picked up one of the ties and studied the length, glanced at Moshe's wrists, then the headboard. "You okay with me spreading your wrists instead of binding them together?"

"Yeah." Moshe's voice cracked unexpectedly. He cleared his throat and repeated, "Yeah."

Biting his lip in concentration, Troy wrapped one silken end around Moshe's left wrist and tied a secure knot, then raised his arm to the headboard and tied it to one of the slats. He repeated the process with the right wrist, and in short order, both of Moshe's wrists were firmly bound. "You, uh… comfortable there?"

Moshe tried moving his arms, and felt a brief spike of panic at just how little slack he had. He wasn't used to being the one bound. But he looked into Troy's concerned face and the panic melted away. He did trust him. "I'm aces."

Troy leaned in and kissed him. "Yeah, you are." He lifted a dark navy tie and dangled it in front of Moshe. "How do you feel about a blindfold?"

Moshe swallowed, then nodded. "Do it."

"The safeword's still—"

"Rhubarb," Moshe confirmed with a nervous laugh, closing his eyes and lifting his head so Troy could wrap the blindfold around his head and fasten it in place with a knot.

"Too tight?"

"No. But bloody hell, I really can't see a damned thing." Moshe sighed and let his head fall back against the pillow. Somehow it hadn't fully occurred to him that he wouldn't be able to see or touch Troy.

He heard Troy chuckle, and the heady mixture of frustration and excitement only increased when he felt lips against his neck. Troy sucked hard on the sensitive skin beneath his ear, grazing it with his teeth. It was exactly how Moshe liked it, and he groaned and bucked his hips, aching to be touched more—to be touched everywhere.

"Don't worry," Troy murmured, his voice tickling Moshe's neck along with his mustache. "I don't plan on tormenting you the way you did me the other night with those damn cuffs. I don't have your willpower."

Troy kissed his neck again, and his fingers trailed along Moshe's torso. He traced each and every scar, as he often did, but this time he lingered longer than usual. Moshe heard Troy's breath catch as he touched the long, jagged one over his heart.

"What is it with you and my scars?" It was a question Moshe had wondered about since the first time they slept together, but he'd never found the courage to broach the issue before. The fact that he couldn't currently see Troy, somehow made him emboldened enough to finally ask, "Is it… are they that repulsive? I thought they'd faded alright. The plastic surgeon says maybe in another year—"

"Repulsive? No. No way." Troy dipped his head and kissed each scar his fingers had touched. "They get to me. They're sexy."

Moshe's cock twitched. His skin felt like fire everywhere Troy was touching him, and ice everywhere he wasn't. "Sexy?"

"Yeah. I mean, the first time I saw them, I felt bad ‘cause I couldn't stop thinking about how things might have been different if only I'd—"

"Troy, _don't_. It wasn't your fault."

"I know," Troy said, in a tone that fell just shy of convincing. He ran the pad of his thumb over a thin, silvery scar by Moshe's navel, then kissed it. "But when I look at them now, I get to feeling really"—he kissed another one, on Moshe's hip—"fucking glad you're alive."

Moshe sucked in a breath, exerting significant effort not to writhe shamelessly. He let out a shaky laugh. "So, you get turned on by the fact I've got a pulse? That's setting the bar a bit low, innit?"

"Not with you, it's not. You fucking whackjob." The affection in his tone was evident. He kissed the base of Moshe's cock and murmured, "It's a miracle you're not dead."

Moshe thrashed at the sensation of Troy's lips so tantalizingly close. He was about to plead for clemency, but before he could even form the words, Troy's warm, wet mouth closed around him.

Gasping and arching his back, Moshe feared he was halfway gone already. With his hands securely bound and Troy pinning his hips with both hands, there was nothing he could do to control the pace. It was maddening and blissful all at once—firm lips and a velvety tongue working him quickly and relentlessly. The temporary darkness of his universe made it impossible to focus on anything but the ecstasy of Troy's mouth.

Tingling pressure started to build, as his balls drew up tight. "Wait! _"_ he shouted. " _Don't_. You'll make me come."

Slowly, Troy pulled off and gave the base of Moshe's cock a firm squeeze. "That was kinda the point," he replied, and Moshe could hear the smirk in his voice.

"Don't be a smug git." Moshe thrust his hips, lamenting the absence of his touch. "You gonna fuck me now, or what?"

"How is it you get even bossier when you're the one tied up?" Troy grazed his knuckles along the length of Moshe's hard-on. "I got plans for this, but you're gonna have to hang on."

"Alright. Suppose I don't have much choice, do I?"

The mattress rocked as Troy stood, and Moshe could hear the nightstand drawer open. He struggled against the restraints once more, aching to touch and be touched. His heart pounded and his blood thrummed with anticipation as he listened, trying to discern what Troy was doing.

Moshe felt the radiating heat from Troy's body as he returned, the bed dipping as when climbed back on. He could make out the sound of something slick, a slapping noise, and a moment later he heard Troy grunt in pleasure. He was touching himself? Moshe groaned involuntarily at the mental image. He felt himself get even harder, a feat he'd not have thought possible.

"Thought you weren't gonna torment me?" he asked, in a strangled voice he barely recognized as his own.

"I'm not. Just gimme a minute here." The bed shifted again, and the slick noises continued as the sound of Troy's jagged breathing quickened.

Moshe heard the crackle of a condom wrapper, and became aware of Troy kneeling between his legs. He braced himself, but there were no slick fingers spreading him wide as expected. Instead, he gasped in surprise when he felt a condom being rolled down over him, followed by a generous application of lube. The noises he’d heard had been Troy preparing himself.

"You good with this?" Troy asked.

"Yeah. I just—need you bad.  _Please_."

Troy straddled him without another word, holding Moshe's cock steady as he slowly lowered himself onto it. Moshe moaned loudly as exquisite heat and tightness began to envelop him. He could hear Troy drawing in harsh, deliberate breaths as he worked past the point of resistance and sank down the rest of the way. 

Moshe forced himself to remain still until Troy started rocking his hips, at which point he let himself thrust back, matching his rhythm to the downstrokes. A stream of pleasured curses rolled off Troy's tongue in response, and as far as Moshe was concerned, not being able to see or touch him suddenly moved from the realm of intriguing inconvenience to unbearable torture.

“Chuck the blindfold. Please," Moshe breathed. He'd expected at least half an argument, but Troy complied immediately, hastily unknotting and removing it. Moshe squeezed his eyes shut against the sudden brightness, blinking a few times as his vision adjusted. When things came into focus, he made out Troy staring down at him, eyes heavy-lidded and face flushed. "I wanted that fucker off too," he admitted. "Needed to see your eyes."

"Kiss me."

“You’re real demanding for a guy who's tied up," Troy said, tracing Moshe's bottom lip with his thumb before leaning down to cover his mouth with a hungry kiss.

When Troy came up for air, Moshe shifted, changing the angle of his hips before thrusting again. That earned him another string of obscenities, followed by Troy rocking back against him at a steadier pace.

"Christ, you feel good," Troy rasped.

Moshe licked his lips and stared down at Troy's hard cock sliding against his belly. "Untie me. I want to touch you."

Troy shook his head. "Later. After."

"Please?" He tugged futilely at the restraints, so hard the headboard rattled.

"No."

"Will you touch yourself for me, then?"

Troy paused, then nodded and took himself in hand. "Like this?" he asked, staring into Moshe's eyes and pumping his fist slowly, circling his thumb over the head.

"Yeah, but  _faster_."

Troy picked up the pace of his strokes, never breaking eye contact as Moshe thrust into him wildly. "Like this? Is this how you'd touch me?"

"Yeah," Moshe's voice broke as he gaped at the sight before him. "Don't stop till you come."

"Fuck—I'm close."

Moshe was close too—heat surging down his spine—but he grit his teeth, determined to watch Troy finish first. Fortunately, he didn't have to wait long. A few more thrusts and he felt Troy's muscles clench around him, almost painfully tight. Troy's head tipped back and he bit his lip hard, a guttural rumbling in his throat while his release spilled hot and fast onto Moshe's abdomen.

The combined sight and sensation proved too much, and Moshe's remaining thread of self-control snapped. A surge of pleasure crashed through him, his entire body convulsing as he cried out Troy's name, finally letting go inside him.

After they'd rocked each other through the last waves of pleasure, Troy climbed off, wincing visibly as he extricated himself and disposed of the condom.

Moshe furrowed his brow as Troy used a washcloth to wipe off his stomach. "You hurt?"

"Nah, just a little sore. Might've been a little too eager there." Troy smiled as he untied Moshe's left wrist. "Worth it, though." He went to work on the other one and added, "I hope you're not hurt, the way you kept yanking your arms."

Moshe flexed and rolled his newly-freed wrists. "Nah, I'm alright. Couldn't help myself anyway. Wanted to touch you."

Troy lay down on the bed beside him. "Well, you can touch me now."

Moshe wrapped his arms around Troy and kissed him tenderly. Sated and relaxed, they lapsed into comfortable silence. After a few moments, Troy sat up and rummaged through the nightstand. He opened Moshe's hand and pressed something into his palm. Moshe looked down at it—a plastic Skeeters keychain with what appeared to be a house key. "Is this…?"

"My spare. Now you can cut out the break-in shit and I can stop worrying about accidentally shooting your head off." Troy shrugged, but the redness coloring his face and the fact that he wouldn't meet Moshe's gaze belied his casual tone.

"Right. Cheers." Moshe closed his fist triumphantly around the key and bit the inside of his cheek hard, trying to keep his expression neutral. "If you ever need me to water your plants or something, now I can. Legally and all."

"If I had any plants, I might take you up on that. Never did have a green thumb." Troy chuckled and lay back down beside Moshe.

Moshe rested his head against Troy's chest. “Well, if we're being honest, I've accidentally murdered every plant in my care."

Troy bolted upright again. “Fuck. The Precinct Party."

“Crap.” Moshe felt a pang of guilt. He'd forgotten completely. He glanced at the clock. "It's only 10:30. I reckon you could still make it."

Troy lifted the neckties, now damp and wrinkled, and shook his head. “These need some serious dry cleaning, for one thing. For another thing, I'm sweaty as hell and can barely walk straight."

“Yeah, it’s a bit obvious someone fucked the living daylights outta you as well," Moshe added.

"Helpful, Mo. Real helpful." Troy sighed and reached for his cell. He pulled up a number in his contacts and dialed. “Hey, Janice, it's the chief." He coughed loudly, followed by excessive hacking and clearing of his throat. "Yeah, I know. Listen I came down with this thing and I've"—he coughed—"been hoping it'd pass, but I don't want to get anyone else"—another cough—"sick." He hacked again for good measure, and Moshe could vaguely make out a woman chattering on the other end. "Yeah. You know, the smoking probably does make it worse. I really should"—another cough—"quit. Alright, thanks. Yeah, you have fun there. G'night."

Moshe gave Troy an appraising look, then shook his head wryly. "You are a shite liar. Maybe the worst of all time. Still can't believe I didn't suss you out as a cop."

"Hey, I'm not that bad. I'm better when I'm not on the spot. Besides I'm a little distracted right now." He pulled Moshe into an embrace again and held him there. "You're a terrible influence, you know that? I'm gonna catch hell for this. Especially from the Commissioner."

"You oughta phone out sick tomorrow, otherwise your story won't hold up."

"Shit, you're right."

Moshe pressed a kiss to Troy's chest and gazed up at him. "Since this whole thing might have been somewhat my fault—"

" _Completely_  your fault."

"Oi, that's a bit harsh. Can I help it that you looked irresistible?"

Troy reached down to cup Moshe's face, dragging his thumb across the stubble. “You were saying?"

Warmth coiled in Moshe's stomach at the look Troy was giving him. "Since this whole thing might have been  _largely_  my fault, I reckon I'd best phone out as well and keep you company."

"Hmm." Troy smiled and ran his fingers through Moshe's hair. "We'd have to stay here all day. Otherwise the story won't hold up."

"Fair penance." Moshe nodded. "And I'm certain we'll think of something to pass the time. Especially if you can be convinced to get back into that dress uniform."

Troy raised an eyebrow. "Do I even want to ask?"

"Um… probably not, come to think of it." Moshe let his head rest against Troy's chest again, and smiled when he felt it rise and fall with mystified laughter.


End file.
